


Armello

by frog_whisperer



Category: Armello (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Warning: if I stick to this it's gonna be looonngg, the novellas up to The Winter Wolf and the prologue are canon to this, this is basically a huge adventure-epic concerning the events of the actual game
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-19 02:00:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15499830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frog_whisperer/pseuds/frog_whisperer
Summary: A Wolf seeks honour, a Bear seeks balance, a Rabbit seeks adventure, and a Rat seeks fortune.When the King finally becomes corrupted by the Rot, members of the Great Clans see their chance to take the throne and become ruler of Armello. But who will emerge on top? And will the new King or Queen restore the Kingdom and unite the Clans? Or will Armello forever be lost to the Banes?"From Wolf to Bear the Clans declare, the time has come to take the throne. For Rot's creeping, it twists our King. Heroes rise! Save Armello!"





	Armello

Darkness fell over the land of Armello. 

A blanket of black covered the sky, pierced only by a few brilliant, shining stars. Five, if one was counting. There was no moon. 

Lanterns and torches were blown out in settlements across the Kingdom, their residents settling down to rest in houses of brick and stone. The grass on the vast, windswept plains swayed gently in the night breeze, with the ruins of castles and forts long demolished reaching out from the horizon. Stone circles, ancient and mysterious, dotted the landscape, their purpose unknown to any but the ancient Druids. The sprawling oaks and towering evergreens that made up Armello’s forests stood stoic and impassive, un-phased by the passage of time and dwarfed in age and height only by the mountain ranges whose peaks looked down upon everything else. 

In the centre of it all stood the Royal Palace: Armello’s Crown Jewel. Built over the remains of the City of Brimwatch, a hive of treachery and deceit, the Palace now stood as a symbol of the united Kingdom of Armello: constructed by the Rabbit Clan, guarded by the Wolf Clan, with a system of law created by the Rat Clan, and the Bear Clan serving as spiritual advisors to the one who had united them all: the King of Armello.

There was no other creature like him in all the land. He was a cat, the size of an ox. He had golden fur, and around his neck was a thick mane of brown. He was as tall and as wide as a bear, but he had the long legs and powerful jaws of a wolf, which meant in battle he could strike with speed reinforced by power. He was a fierce warrior, and there was none who could best him in open combat, but he was not King by might alone. He was a shrewd diplomat and a cunning politician, yet he displayed great empathy towards the meek, was always fair in his decision making, and treated all of his subjects equally, no matter if they were Wolf, Bear, Rabbit, Rat, or had no Clan at all.

Armello had flourished under his rule. He had brought the land into a golden age of peace and prosperity. All across the Kingdom he was regarded as a noble and fair King: loved by all.

Or at least, he had been.

There had always been rumours about the King’s rise to power: a Bane appearing in Brimwatch in time for the King to arrive and slay it, the flock of ravens that seemed to permanently circle the Palace, the foul stench reported by visitors to the throne room, the slow but sure resurgence of the Banes in Armello since the King’s coronation...

To suggest that His Majesty was infected by the Rot was treason, and a creature could be beheaded for even daring to _think_ of such a thing. Most were ignorant, and saw only their great golden King, as brave and noble as ever. Others suspected, but put the thought to the back of their minds. Some knew.

The King knew.

His throne room was empty, the Guards dismissed hours before. The moonlight shone through the high windows, illuminating the dust mites that hovered above the red carpet, but the throne remained shrouded in darkness. Black throns were growing behind the chair, crawling up the walls and along the floor. They were officially recognised as weeds, but no matter how hard he tried, the royal botanist could not remove them.

The King hardly left his throne anymore. To suggest that he was sick was also an act of treason: Horace, his most trusted Knight and closest friend, had been banished for such claims, but it was true. He had sought the private council of the best doctors in the land who had treated him with every cure and remedy they knew, but nothing worked. No one knew what sickness was plaguing him. But the King knew.

He had always known. He had agreed to the terms of the Rot when he had first summoned that plague to protect the one who cared for him, all those summers ago. The Rot had helped him on his path to the crown; he owed it as much as he owed the Wyld. The balance between the two was crucial: he alone understood that, which was why he alone was the King. 

Keeping secrets was the mark of a good ruler. When other creatures learned of the Rot, they made assumptions, and jumped to conclusions about things they did not understand. Mathis the rabbit had almost destroyed the Kingdom before it had even begun, and in the end it got him killed. The Stranger too, the mysterious cat who had forged the King Pride’s Edge, his mighty longsword, had tried to purify him as well, so the King had him burned at the stake.

No, the Rot was his burden alone to bare. And at last it seemed to have come for him. 

The King heard the whisperings first: a million wordless voices echoing in his ears, sending a chill down the back of his neck. The cold swept through his thick mane and entered his body, sending an ice-like freeze through his veins. His insides were churning around as though they were swamp water, and a burning heat was boiling in his head. He could feel his airways closing up, making his breathing progressively more difficult.

He always knew the Rot would come for him at the end of his life, so he did not fight it. Armello had done well under his rule, now all he could do was let it find a new ruler and hope his Kingdom continued to prosper. He gave a long, deep sigh, and shut his blue eyes, awaiting his death.

Only when he could feel his muscles tightening and his veins bursting onto his skin in the form of purple stripes did he realise: the Rot didn’t want his life, it wanted _him_.

He tried to fight it, attempting to rise to his feet, but the thorns that grew behind the throne suddenly came to life, wrapping around his wrists, ankles, and neck. He pushed and struggled with all his remaining might, but the grip of the thorns only tightened, and the whispers only grew louder:

_“Join us…Join us…”_

_“By the Wyld, what have I done?”_ The King’s blue eyes widened with fear as his body violently started to shudder. Everything he had built…everything he had worked so hard to maintain… _He_ would destroy it all.

_“Mathis…Horace…Isabella… **Armello** ….I’m so sorry.”_

With an awful, strangled groan, he collapsed in his chair. Pride’s Edge hung limp in his paw, and his head slumped forward, facing the ground. The thorns receded and curled back up the throne. A huge lion sat shrouded by darkness, alone. The King was dead.

A raven’s call echoed from the tower above.

His eyes snapped open.

Purple.

The King’s claws tightened around his sword. He tensed and could feel his muscles being strengthened by the dark stripes that ran along them. Suddenly his mind was filled with thoughts that had never been his: 

The Palace was filled with spies and traitors! Only the Guard were loyal, he would have them throw the insubordinates out of the walls as soon as the dawn came. 

The Spirit Stones would return, and those who collected them would have the power to purge him. They must be destroyed as soon as possible! The traitors could not be allowed to possess them!

The Clans were conspiring against him: those very same Clans he had once united. They would attack him from all sides when he was at his weakest, and snatch the crown from him! They had to be stopped before they had the chance. He could send the Banes to do that: he was their King too now.

Was that how the Clans wanted to play? Very well, let them! If they wanted the Kingdom, they would have to snatch it from his cold dead claws, but not before he had left deep wounds in it that would never heal.

He made this Kingdom: he would **break** it.

For the first time in a long while, the King stood up. He roared his challenge to the sky: a huge noise, that carried for miles around and sent the ravens above, omens of the darkness to come, flying across the Kingdom: _his _Kingdom.__

___**Armello.**__ _

**Author's Note:**

> Take a drink for every 'He' in that chapter. I swear it was intentional though.


End file.
